


Cherries & Whiskey

by olddarkmachine



Series: For the Love of Football [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Drunken Flirting, First Meetings, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, The football player/loner AU no one asked for, except me I asked for this lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 18:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12463776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olddarkmachine/pseuds/olddarkmachine
Summary: Oh no, he’s hot.The thought was dangerous. An open flame to a drum of gasoline that had already been teetering dangerously, threatening to spill its noxious liquids all over the ground. Keith had always known the captain of the football team would be attractive. Wasn’t it a prerequisite for the job?Great with balls, capable hands, good looks so American they would make the founding fathers weep.Or something to that effect. From what he knew of Garrison University’s star QB, #12 Takashi Shirogane, he filled each requirement the same way he was currently filling the athletic shirt he wore. Adequately and much to Keith’s satisfaction.





	Cherries & Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> During my week off from writing, I wrote myself this and was going to save it for a rainy day. That rainy day turned out to be Keith's birthday. Why you ask? Because Keith deserves a blow job in the back of an Audi.
> 
> ~~honestly this was just super fun to write lol is it birthday centric? no. is it keithy? oh yeah.~~
> 
> Randomly inspired by Ryan Adams' cover of "Back In Your Head" and a night spent at a college football game.
> 
> EDIT: Holy shit, y'all, check out this [ amazing artwork from Project Ava!](https://theprojectava.tumblr.com/post/168159161683/fanart-for-for-the-love-of-football-by) She's one of my fave Sheith artists so I'm a wee bit flabbergasted that she would be inspired by this AU. SO EVERYONE GO LOOK OKAY!

_Oh no, he’s hot._

 

The thought was dangerous. An open flame to a drum of gasoline that had already been teetering dangerously, threatening to spill its noxious liquids all over the ground. Keith had always known the captain of the football team would be attractive. Wasn’t it a prerequisite for the job?

 

_Great with balls, capable hands, good looks so American they would make the founding fathers weep._

 

Or something to that effect. From what he knew of Garrison University’s star QB, #12 Takashi Shirogane, he filled each requirement the same way he was currently filling the athletic shirt he wore. Adequately and much to Keith’s satisfaction. 

 

The third year’s deep, dark secret-- much to his own dismay-- was that he loved football. It clashed horribly with the carefully cultivated aura of disillusion he had wrapped himself in. He’d worked hard to reach the levels of jaded uncaring that he wore like a badge of honor on his overtly black ensemble. But damn, if Keith Kogane, resident dark cloud of the aeronautical engineering department, didn’t love some football. 

 

So much, in fact, that he had a long standing engagement every Saturday with a booth at a sports bar conveniently located just far enough from their little college town for him to avoid anyone he might know. Football was Keith’s religion. And with a face like that, #12 just might be his deity.

 

Taking a long drag from the cigarette clutched between his forefinger and middle finger, he let the smoke burn through his lung tissue and sinful thoughts. Closeups on the ancient televisions at the bar hadn’t done the player justice, showing nothing more than the steel eyes filled with concentration through the grates of his helmet and the full lips that twisted with determination. They hadn’t captured the sharp planes of his squared jawline or the point of his nose that may as well have been carved by Michelangelo himself. The sports networks didn’t catch the way his smile snatched every star from the sky so that it could sparkle without any competition.

 

Most importantly, their cameras couldn’t quite transmit the exact color of grey in his eyes, their hue caught between a storm filled sky and polished silver. 

 

Exhaling the nerve numbing nicotine and heady appreciations, Keith watched as the dancing tendrils obstructed his line of sight with their dancing wisps before dissipating into the cool Fall air. 

 

Keith didn’t usually make it a habit to attend Lance’s weekend parties, not interested enough in the alcohol they provided to justify the human interaction they would ultimately lead to. 

 

_I can have just as much liquor on my own without all the sweaty, drunk people, thanks_ , he’d once said with an over exaggerated eye roll to ensure Lance understood just how little he cared to accept his invitation. His apathy didn’t seem to do much to deter the lean 20-something that had nothing going for him but long limbs and the charm of an overly needy Labrador Retriever. So nearly every week he plopped himself in the seat next to Keith in their experimental dynamics and control lab with a wide grin and a vocal invite to whatever party he was having that weekend.

 

_We’re celebrating the school’s 112th birthday, want in?_

 

_It’s Speak Like A Pirate Day on Saturday, eye patches required for entry._

 

_I got a 70 on that electrical engineering test, which is easily worth two days worth of partying._

 

_If we win Saturday, we’re celebrating 10 wins in a row. If we don’t, we’re drinking our sorrows over our first loss._

 

If anyone asked-- which they didn’t, since he didn’t socialize-- Keith had finally caved to peer pressure just to avoid getting invited one more damn time. No one needed to know the truth of it all: that he knew they wouldn’t lose. 

 

Takashi Shirogane hadn’t steered the team wrong in the two years he’d been captain of the Garrison Devils, and he had seriously doubted he was going to this time around. His unwavering, private fanaticism was rewarded with a blowout win-- 45-0-- and the opportunity to see the myth himself up close and personal.

 

Or, as up close and personal as the opposite end of an apartment courtyard could be. Dropping the burning cherry onto the ground and crushing the embers beneath the heel of his well worn boot, Keith brought his red solo cup filled with whiskey to his lips, sucking in enough of the liquid to help him swallow the smell of smoke on his breath. 

 

“Who are we mooning over?” An overly friendly voice and sharp clap of a hand on his shoulder thrust his heart into the roof of his mouth. Spinning on his heel with a glare already locked and loaded to mask the otherwise panicked look that had contorted his face into an obscene caricature. 

 

“No one,” Keith deadpanned as he held up the plastic cup clutched tightly in his fist. “I’m mourning the death of my Saturday night. Pour a shot for what little life I had, snuffed out by this party.” 

 

If he was being honest, Keith didn’t actually hate Lance or the parties he threw. What he hated was the cloying weight of false niceties people liked to sling around after inebriation had lubricated the sticks most of them had shoved up their asses at all other times. 

 

_Oh my gosh, we were in stats together!_

 

_We really should talk more!_

 

_I can’t believe I forgot how much fun we had in that one class freshman year!_

 

Keith gagged each time he overheard one of the annoyingly chipper exclamations, knowing full well half of them had never exchanged words in their lives while the other half wouldn’t even remember this much the next day. If he acted like he hated everyone and everything, he could avoid the heartache of pretending like they didn’t all just leave eventually in the end, no matter how excited they were to see him when their blood was half alcohol.

 

“Nope, I do not accept your snarking sarcasm and fake cynicism, Keith Kogane,” Lance said, words slurring around the edges as he stabbed a finger into his chest. “You were sucking on that cancer stick like it was attached to a body as you stared lovingly into the distance like a teen at a boy band concert. So I ask again, who are we mooning over?” 

 

His friend-- in the loosest sense of the word-- looked over the top of his onyx hair, eyes scanning the crowd that lay where Keith had been staring just a moment ago. Any self preserving human would have made their escape right then and there, using the distraction to steal away like a thief in the night. Only the strong survive, Darwinism and all those things were a testament to those that knew when to retreat to safety when the threat of something devastating was close.

 

It was then, abject horror mingling with the whiskey in his gut as he watched Lance’s crystalline eyes spark with dangerous knowledge, that Keith realized he wouldn’t make it in Darwin’s world of natural selection.

 

“Oh,” was all the party host said, his eyebrows arching in the most sinister way as he turned his attention back to him. That look was the look of someone with the secret codes to launch a nuclear attack, and was more than prepared to punch them in right there. Keith felt his heart stop, it’s beats pausing long enough that he momentarily wondered if it would even start back up again.

 

“My, my Keith. The football star? Really? I never pegged you for the jock type.” Twisted humor and delight filled Lance’s voice at his expense. “Figured you liked them in leather with authority issues, not wearing letter jackets and giving orders.” 

 

As if to further drive home the point, like Keith didn’t understand exactly who he was speaking of, the brunette squatted, hands cupped over an imaginary ball that he held between his legs as he called out nonsensical and made up football terminology. What venomous retort he had prepped died on his tongue as a pleasantly deep voice beat him to it.

 

“None of that was anything I would actually say.” 

 

For the second time that night, Keith found his heart banging wildly against his tonsils as he turned to see the one and only Garrison Devils quarterback smiling down at Lance. White noise and error codes flashed through his mind as he stared up at the football player, only mildly aware of the way his mouth hung open. From the way Lance rolled his eyes, it was clear he was more than conscious of it as he straightened his stance, thinking enough to pretend to be humiliated at being caught.

 

“Shiro, my man, that’s why you play the game and I just watch,” he laughed, jewel eyes dancing from the new addition to their conversation to his floundering classmate. “And throw you the parties so you can meet your adoring fans.”

 

Keith’s lungs revolted against him, pushing all the air backwards through his windpipe in a failed attempt to choke him. _That result may have been preferable actually_ , he thought as his violet eyes caught the humored gaze of the football captain next to him. Hiding his dismay in his solo cup, Keith threw back the last of the amber liquid, only allowing himself to resurface once the carefully composed version of himself took over again.

 

“What sport do you play?” He asked, nonchalance curling the edges of his words until they were painfully indifferent. Which, of course was the exact moment Lance took it upon himself to speak again.

 

“Shiro, meet your number one fan, Keith. Keith, meet the star of your wet dreams, Shiro,” he snarked, gesturing between the pair before blowing a stunned Keith a kiss and dancing away into the throng of bodies filling the courtyard. 

 

Silence was almost always his strongest weapon. It was amazing what silence could do to deter unwanted attention. More often than not, Keith deployed its defenses instead of searching for some soul crushing retort befitting his casual composure. But in that moment he was betrayed by his greatest ally as he found himself on the receiving end of its brute strength. The quiet stretched between them long enough for Keith to wonder if, somehow, time had stopped all together to leave him frozen in the single, most awkward moment of his life.

 

Well, second, if he counted that time with in middle school with the jello cup.

 

“Number one fan, huh?” Quarterback #12, Takashi Shirogane-- Shiro, Keith reminded himself tersely-- said, breaking the frozen moment with four words and an Earth ending smile. He was sure that smile got Shiro everything he wanted in life, if the football position didn’t already, and for just a moment Keith hated himself for wanting to give him everything too.

 

“Lance is a jackass,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes for added measure. “I ask again, what sport do you play?” 

 

Keith fixed him with his patented scowl, chin uplifted defiantly as he dared the football player to challenge him. With any luck, he wouldn’t see right through the facade to the way his insides were quivering. One well placed hit to his defenses, and he would be down for the count. Inwardly, he was in crisis mode. Outwardly, he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked an eyebrow. He bore witness to the exact moment Shiro decided to play along, mimicking the gesture as he crossed his arms across the expanse of his chest.

 

“Football, maybe you’ve heard of it?” Storm filled eyes dragged down the line of Keith’s body languidly before shooting back up just in time to catch the way it made his cheeks flush. _This is a common tactic amongst alpha males_ , Keith told himself as he held the gaze, ignoring the goosebumps that were erupting over his arms the longer he did. _He’s sizing you up._

 

_Good._

 

“The one with that white and black ball, right?” He filled his voice with as much false sincerity as he could, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch as Shiro’s eyes rolled upwards towards the heavens.

 

“Close. But no, I’m talking about the other one.” Unwinding his arms, he pulled his right one back before lazily throwing it forward, imitating a throw so natural that Keith could just about see the perfect spiral of the imagined ball. His mouth pooled as he watched the way Shiro’s bicep strained against the cuff of his shirt with the motion. A heated electricity had started to tickle just behind his belly button as the football player fixed him with a smirk and arched eyebrow. The message was loud and clear. 

 

_Your turn_.

 

Keith made a show of falling deep into thought, bringing one of his hands up to his face, thumb cradling his chin as his forefinger tapped against the bridge of his nose. After a moment’s pause, he snapped his fingers as if he’d reached an epiphany.

 

“That’s right, the one with the dumb jocks.” It should have been what won their test for dominance. Should have clinched him the victory and protected his status as uncaring bastard of Garrison University. Except he made a mistake. Before he could dissect the second half of his retort, picking out the one thing that would give him away, the words slipped from his mouth.

 

“It’s okay, QB, at least you’re pretty.”

 

Shiro’s mouth pulled into a toothy grin as he took a step closer towards Keith’s space before he’d even recognized his fatal error. _QB_. The realization was a punch in the gut as he identified his mistake just a moment too late. His blood would have stilled in his veins if it weren’t for the fire that was racing through him due to the proximity of the football player.

 

“I don’t recall telling you I was a quarterback.” And to deal his death blow, Shiro winked. 

 

_K.O._

 

More warnings and sirens were tripped in his mind as he grappled to snatch back the remaining vestiges of his armor. He could salvage this, he just had to play his cards right. He just had to--

 

“You ever come to the games?” The captain asked, taking another barely there step closer so Keith could feel the whisper of his breath across his cheek. 

 

_I watch them all, that 95-yard touchdown pass last week was a thing of legend._

 

“Nope,” he said, drawing out the ‘oh’ sound and popping the ‘p,’ eyes shifting to look anywhere else but at the shimmering ones above him. The courtyard was suddenly stifling and his skin was on fire as his hands twitched, wanting nothing more than to grab the jock by his shirt and drag him into a kiss. Or maybe he just wanted to punch him. Really, anything to wipe that stupid, all knowing smirk off of his face.

 

“That’s a shame, I would love to know you were up there cheering for me.” Shiro’s voice dipped low as he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth as he let his silver gaze fall down to Keith’s. The electricity between them was almost visible, zinging between the small distance between their bodies as they stared each other down, waiting for the others next move. It was how Keith imagined it felt standing at the edge of a cliff before taking a dive: equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. 

 

He knew the rush from the fall would be worth the fear, all he had to do was jump.

 

“I might be able to be persuaded,” he said after letting the thick heat dancing in the air smother them both for just a moment longer. Returning Shiro’s earlier smirk, he took a step back to break the growing intensity. His eyebrow twitched upwards to hammer home the sentiment.

 

_Tag, you’re it._

 

When Keith had woken up that morning, he hadn’t expected to make any contact with anyone at Lance’s party, let alone find himself on the receiving end of an appraising look from Shiro as he ruminated on his next words. His storm colored gaze was filled with intention as it ran lines up and down Keith’s body, searching for something that only Shiro knew. 

 

In an attempt at distracting his own roaming thoughts, he returned the look, allowing himself the opportunity to take stock of the football player now that he was within arms reach. Unsurprisingly, he was impressive in every way, an Adonis amongst the mere mortals of the university. 

 

Even worst still, if his witty banter was any indication, he also had brains to back it all up. _Brains, brawn and beauty._ Keith had never stood a chance, though he had given it a valiant effort. Silently, he said a prayer for the image he’d worked so hard to cultivate, laid to rest by just one short conversation with the school’s star football player.

 

Finally, dragging his eyes up the slope of the football player’s very chiseled jawline, Keith let himself wonder what it taste like to suck a dark mark right at the junction of squared jaw and pulse. Probably like the most tantalizing mix of blue gatorade and victory.

 

Or maybe something more poetic, like crisp Fall air and home.

 

“Want to get out of here, Cherry Bomb?” Shiro finally asked, sealing the deal with a panty dropping smile. Keith’s insides imploded on themselves, trying ardently to see which could get sucked into the black hole behind his belly button first. The question had been bad enough, but he found himself focused on the nickname tacked onto the end, rolling it over and over in his mind like a well polished stone. 

 

_Cherry Bomb_.

 

_Cherry. Bomb._

 

_Ch-ch-ch-cherry Bomb._

 

Somewhere on an astral plane, his soul reached a level of sublime unknown to any other human in existence. At least, as far as Keith knew. 

 

“God, yes,” he moaned, already planning the many different ways he was about to make the quarterback repeat that name. Shiro rewarded him with dark eyes and a deviant smile that sent a shiver down his spine. Without another word, he wrapped his hand around Keith’s and began to pull him towards the gates of the courtyard. The touch was enough to send his mind into a nose dive, the dizzying vertigo hitting him like a freight train as he calculated just how large Shiro’s hand was. Sending a silent thanks to every deity that might possibly reside over them, he allowed himself to be dragged through the throng of drunk college kids and out onto the street outside Lance’s complex.

 

Out of here ended up being a black Audi parked a block over. A discovery he made as his breath left him in a single huff as he found his back thrown against the back passenger door, only to be caught by Shiro’s mouth. The kiss stole what little senses Keith still had about him as he moaned filthily into the touch, opening his mouth without any hesitation to suck the quarterback’s tongue into his mouth. As if moving on their own, his hands clawed at the tight fabric of the athletic shirt that clung to Shiro’s frame before settling for the collar. With what his fingers could manage to pull from his skin, Keith tugged him closer as he dragged the tip of his tongue across the football player’s bottom lip before he pushed it deep into his mouth and licked the back of his teeth. A strangled mewl vibrated in Shiro’s throat, only pushing Keith’s advance forward as he rolled his hips, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth upwards as he felt the hardness that stood between them. 

 

Keith was the first to pull away, the white stars that had been dancing in his vision alerting him to his lack of oxygen intake. The football star moved his attention down towards his throat as he nipped and sucked at the skin, first brutalizing his skin with the sharp pinch of his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. His moans were loud in the otherwise silent night air as he slid his hand up around Shiro’s neck to hold him in place, as he tried to commit the feel of his mouth to memory.

 

“If you don’t unlock this door within the next three seconds,” Keith said shakily, still struggling to breathe through the ever escalating rate of his heart. Adrenaline and lust were setting his insides ablaze. 

 

Honestly, he’d forgotten what he was going to do if they weren’t in that backseat within the allotted time, his threat wiped from his mind completely after a particularly sharp pinch that had made his belly button quiver. Shiro didn’t need to hear the rest of it though, a fact made all too clear by the sudden click of automatic locks unlocking. There was barely any time for him to register the swift movement as he was pulled to the side long enough for the door to be wrenched open before he was pushed down against the soft leather of the Audi’s back seat. Shiro didn’t even bother closing the door as he dropped his knees onto the ledge that stood between the seat and door and pressed his nose into the strip of skin between the hem of Keith’s shirt and his jeans.

 

“And what were you planning on doing when I did unlock the door?” The words were growled into his stomach before they were chased away with a quick kiss to his skin, making him squirm as his hips bucked under the pressure. 

 

“Fuck, Shiro,” he breathed as he felt fingers making quick work of button of his pants, his own finding the soft strands of the quarterback’s hair as he grasped for anything to keep him anchored to Earth. Keith’s eyes rolled backwards at the sudden coolness of the Fall air against his length as Shiro tugged his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his erection from the confines of its fabric prison. 

 

“You moan like a whore, Cherry Bomb,” he breathed as he brushed his lips against the V of his hip. Keith’s hips bucked again, drawing a wicked smile against Shiro’s mouth as his eyes peered up at him through the strands of hair that weren’t clutched in his fist. “I could get off just listening to you.” 

 

Then, as if to prove his statement, he ran the width of his tongue up the underside of his cock, tracing the vein with a purposeful swipe without breaking their gazes. A blistering whine dragged itself from deep within Keith as his fingers tightened in Shiro’s hair, his head falling back against the seat beneath him. Stars temporarily blinded him as they exploded behind his eyelids as the heat of the captain’s mouth wrapped around his head, teasing as he swirled a quick circle around it. A purr of appreciation vibrated around his length as Shiro sunk his mouth lower, taking him in inch-by-inch. It was exquisite torture as he rolled his tongue against the vein, eliciting another sinful gasp from his victim. 

 

“Shiro,” Keith whined, gasping for breath and fighting to control the bucking of his hips in a failed attempt at being a considerate blowjob recipient. “Please.” 

 

The only warning he got was the flash of silver through white bangs before he felt his tip hit the back of Shiro’s throat, blowing what small semblance of control he had left. Freed from the constraint of his own blowjob decorum, Keith’s hips rolled into the warm, wet heat of the quarterback’s mouth. With one hand buried deep in his hair and the other braced against the car door looming over his head, the black haired boy writhed, filling the Audi with the sounds of his building fervor. Shiro’s hands roamed over the expanse of Keith’s torso, fingers brushing lightly over the nubs of his nipples before pulling them back down and repeating the movement. He let Keith hold him in place, fucking into his mouth, eyebrow arching like Keith’s back as he watched him through the veil of his hair. Heat and pressure gathered low in his gut, the tension climbing with the sound of his moans. It felt like a star, imploding in on itself too quickly, the blistering heat of it bleeding into his veins and curling his toes. 

 

“Shit, Shiro, I’m--” Keith bit his lip as he let his tried to pull the quarterback’s mouth from his dick in time only to be met by resistance as he kept his mouth wrapped around him. When he came, it was deep in Shiro’s throat while staring into the defiant depths of his moonlit ocean eyes. His orgasm drew itself from him with the force of a monsoon, stealing his breath and filling him with its crashing waves. 

 

With a small pop and a sinner’s grin, Shiro pulled him off Keith’s length, complying when he was dragged forward by his hair. Lips crashing together and body thrumming with pleasure, Keith swiped his tongue into his mouth, enjoying the way his taste mixed with the alcohol on Shiro’s breath. Biting onto the fullness of his bottom lip, Keith pushed upwards, pushing the football player back onto his haunches so he was sat in his lap. In a swift motion, he rolled his hips upwards into the hardness straining against Shiro’s jeans before he used the momentum to push him into the seat back. Now straddling the quarterback’s lap, he smoothed his hair back, dragging his fingers over the back of his head until they curled around the back of his neck. With his free hand, Keith pulled the door shut, not breaking the kiss as he inhaled Shiro’s gasps and pleas.

 

Still grasping the nape of his neck, Keith used his other hand to pop open the buttons on the jeans that separated him from Shiro’s cock. Swallowing a small whimper from the man beneath him, he carefully dipped his hand beneath the waistband of his briefs. His own dick twitched as he pulled Shiro free, the girth in his hand making him salivate. Pulling away, a single line of saliva connected their lips as he let his mauve gaze take in the football player beneath him.

 

Cheeks flushed and pupils blown, Shiro’s lips were stained with the color of crushed rose petals and slicked by Keith. He looked completely wrecked, and yet he still looked beautiful. Shiro watched as Keith pulled his hand up to his mouth, tongue spreading slick saliva across his palm, completely entranced by the movement, which only spurned him further. Dropping a wink over his fingers, he let his hand fall between them where he grasped Shiro’s length. 

 

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes fluttering at the contact as he began to slow drag his fist up and down, pausing at the tip so he could run his thumb over his slit.

 

“You don’t sound half bad yourself, QB,” Keith growled before dropping his mouth against the vein in Shiro’s neck, sucking a mark there as he pumped his hand, twisting the motion as he went and preening at the sounds it dragged from the player. 

 

_Sea salt and sweet almond_ , he thought to himself as he worked Shiro’s skin between his teeth and slightly tightened his grip on his cock. _That’s so much better than what I imagined._

 

A soft keen and thrust of the quarterback’s hips made him smile into his neck as he continued to stroke him.

 

“Keith,” Shiro whispered, hands clutching at the back of his shirt as he tried to brace himself against the building fire within him, groaning again. “Keith.” 

 

“C’mon, Shiro, come for me,” Keith whispered into his ear before nipping at his lobe. Panting into his shoulder, Shiro continued to roll his hips upwards into the steady beat of Keith’s hand before a cry fell from his lips. White ribbons of come danced between them, painting their shirts with the obscene evidence of what they’d done. If Keith was an artist, he would probably draw a comparison between the splattered mess and a Jackson Pollock. 

 

Sitting back in his lap, Keith ran a thumb over one of the white lines, swiping it off his shirt before dragging his tongue over the wet sheen on the digit and arching a coy eyebrow at the man between his thighs. Shiro’s eyes were glazed over as he watched, raising a tentative hand to swipe his fingertips over the apple of Keith’s cheek.

 

“Fuck,” he whispered again, earning him a throaty chuckle as Keith nodded.

 

“Fuck indeed, QB.” A moment of silence stretched between them before strong arms pulled him back into Shiro’s chest, the football players nose nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder as he rested his cheek against the bone. It was all the invitation he needed to melt into the embrace, letting his head rest onto Shiro’s shoulder. 

 

“We should probably get cleaned up,” Keith muttered, stroking Shiro’s hair absentmindedly as his vision fixated on the red of the lock of the car door. The edges of it grew fuzzy as his sight fell in and out of focus. Rumbling a half answer, Shiro’s hands drew lazy lines up and down Keith’s back as he nuzzled his nose further into the skin at the collar of his shirt.

 

“Just give me a moment,” he sighed. Shiro’s words turned into a small yawn that tickled against Keith’s throat as he held the smaller man against his chest. Heat was rolling off the quarterback in waves, warming his skin as he settled himself further into his arms.

 

 _A few moments won’t hurt anyone_ , he thought as his eyelids grew heavy.

 

As Keith fell into the darkness of his sleep, wrapped in the feathered edges of the afterglow, he couldn’t help but sink closer into the broad chest of the Garrison’s star quarterback.

 

God, did Keith love football.

**********


End file.
